


Save Her From His Nightmares

by Twixen93



Series: Molly Hooper & Sherlock Holmes <3 [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Nightmares, Sherlolly - Freeform, mollock, unexpected things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twixen93/pseuds/Twixen93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The frequency and severity of Sherlock's nightmares regarding Molly were starting to weigh on him. Moriarty's return only worsened them. In an effort to ease his mind Sherlock called on Mycroft for help to relocate Molly to 221B while she was away at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Her Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a Sherlolly prompt thing that a dear dear Nonny sent me a few days ago on Tumblr. I’ve been working on it but I’m kind of stuck at one particular moment so I’m posting what I have because you are all incredibly patient!
> 
> I feel like this has been done so many times but I kind of wanted to do my take on it. I hope you guys enjoy it and hopefully I can get over this writers block I've been having. 
> 
> Wish me luck fellow Sherlolly shippers!
> 
> \- Twixen93

* * *

 

 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Molly didn’t count. Not to Moriarty. 

 

Sherlock had missed all the clues that mattered and the result of his error was now standing on the roof of St. Bart’s. But this time there was no one there to catch her. No grandiose plan to save her life. 

 

Molly stood on the ledge, looking bravely forward.  _Always brave. Always._

 

His phone rang, the familiar sound blocking out the rush of the city. He knew who was on the other end and he didn’t want to answer it because he knew what it meant. It was her goodbye. Moriarty’s final blow. 

 

The phone was foreign in his hand as he answered the call, setting the phone against his ear with shaking hands. Her uneven breaths the only sound for what seemed an eternity.

 

“ Molly, I can save you, Don’t do this,” Sherlock ended the silence, his voice desperate and pleading. 

 

The lie was transparent. He wouldn’t make it in time to pull her down, to hug her close and never let go, he couldn’t save her. Not this time. Not when she needed him the most. He couldn’t save her. 

 

“ Sherlock…” her voice broke as she took a shaky breath. 

 

“ I can save you,” he repeated, the desperation controlling his voice.  

 

“ You’re going to have to be strong okay. I know… I know you will want to hide away but I don’t want you to… Don’t mourn for me… Please… please just focus and find him… Find him for me… and Sherlock… I’m sorry… I… I…” her sobs finally prevented her from continuing. 

 

Each sob, each of her last precious words clawed, tore, and ripped jagged holes in his heart. 

 

“ Molly, don’t,” the words caught in his throat as he watched her from below. He couldn’t breath. 

 

She took a shuddering breath, another, then another. This was her acceptance, her final breaths, and he could feel her sorrow for what she was about to say. 

 

“ I love you.”

 

The phone clicked off with her last words. Seconds later she stepped off the ledge. 

 

“ MOLLY!” 

 

It was soundless as she fell, like an angel without her wings, and all he could do was watch. She didn’t scream. It was her defiance. Moriarty was already claiming her life, he would not get her fear as well. 

 

Time didn’t slow like in the movies. It went on, uncaring and unchanging. The cruelty of it stabbed at his heart and mind. Her death was his punishment and the reality of it made him crumble to his knees, hot tears searing wet trails down his cheeks, and her name on his lips.

 

 

* * *

  

“ MOLLY!” Sherlock woke, screaming her name in anguish.

 

He battled with the sheets wrapped tightly around him, tearing them off his sweat covered body, and threw them to the floor. It was suffocating, he couldn’t breath, and his heart pounded torturously against his ribs.  _It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Nothing more._ He repeated the mantra to himself as he concentrated on filling his lungs with much needed oxygen. 

 

His hands clenched into fists and his nails dug into his palms. He hissed at the pain but it drew his mind back to the present.  _Breathe Sherlock. Just breathe._

 

And he did. The ache in his chest subsided as his lungs regained their normal rhythm and he sat up slowly, setting his bare feet on the floor. He set his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands in order to massage his temples. A migraine assaulted his head and he had to clench his eyes shut from the new pain. Quiet tears trailed down his cheeks as he did so and he hastily wiped them away. 

 

His nightmares were getting worse. Each time he closed his eyes Molly would be standing on that roof, begging him to not mourn for her, and to focus on finding Moriarty. Even in the throes of death she was encouraging him and pushing him to do what was necessary. She would break above him, he would beg her to stop, but she would always say she loved him and then fall. There was always the fall. 

 

He had hoped that having a mission would ease his subconscious, or at the least keep it distracted, but the mystery of Moriarty’s return only fuelled his nightmares. 

 

Fear for Molly’s well being plagued his mind and he couldn’t afford to let that happen if he wanted to keep her safe. His full concentration needed to be focused on Moriarty because finding him would keep her safe. Molly counted, she mattered now, and Moriarty would willingly exploit that. Something had to be done. She had to be protected. 

 

Mind made up, he reached over and grabbed his cell from the bedside table. A few keystrokes later and it was done. 

 

_I require your assistance. - SH_

 

Seconds later he had his answer.

 

_Brother mine, it seems a visit to Baker Street is in order. - MH_

 

No matter how much he despised calling on Mycroft for help, Sherlock could not deny the efficiency of his brother’s ways. Mycroft would do what was necessary to ensure Molly’s safety and that was all that mattered now. 


	2. Insufferable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry guys! I know this is being updated at a snails pace but real life, she calls to me. Thanks for sticking around though. :)

* * *

 

Molly had been having an oddly stress free day. Well, as good of a day you could have working in a morgue. She had finished all her paperwork with half an hour to spare at the end of her shift and her replacement arrived 15 minutes early for theirs. A quick call to her supervisor for the “ok” and she was on her way home 10 minutes earlier than usual. An odd event in and of itself. That should have been her first indicator. God forbid she have a good day without any surprises. 

 

So of course something had to go spectacularly wrong. 

 

She stood in the centre of her flat. Her empty flat. Everything was gone and it wasn’t just a couch or her laptop or even her jewelry. Everything.  _This is not happening right now. I’m being pranked. Please let this be a stupid_ _prank._ She pleaded silently as she clenched her eyes shut and ran her fingers through her hair. 

 

She needed to call her landlord and the police. How do you even begin to explain how everything you own has mysteriously disappeared?

 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she exhaled loudly while she pulled it out to check the caller.  _What now?_  


 

Sherlock Holmes. 

 

Dealing with Sherlock was far from the top of the list of things she wanted to do right now but if she ignored it he would keep calling until she caved and answered. 

 

“ What do you need Sherlock? I’m kind of in the middle of something,” she answered unusually crass but considering the situation it was rightly warranted. 

 

“ Ah Molly. Good, you’re home. Your assistance is required at Baker Street immediately.”

 

“ It is really not a good time. I need to-“

 

“ Don’t be ridiculous,” he interrupted her, “ everything you need is here at Baker Street.”

 

“ Sherlock, really I can’t-“ she paused briefly to re-process what he just said, “ wait. What?”

 

He ignored her question. 

 

“ A car has been sent to retrieve you. I expect your arrival in 15 minutes.”

 

And with those final words words he hung up on her. She gaped at the phone in her hand, mouth open, and eyes narrowed.  _Who does he think he is?_  


“ He is so frustrating!” she vocalized to the empty flat. 

 

Her furniture missing definitely had something to do with Sherlock and his incredibly inflated ego. His words only confirmed it. She was going to murder him and make it look like an accident. It’s not like she hadn’t done it before. She cringed at her current train of thought and mentally berated herself for bringing up The Fall.

 

Groaning, she bent down to pick up her bag that she had unceremoniously dropped on the floor when walking in and slung it over her shoulder. When she straightened back up a woman was standing in the doorway. The sudden presence startled her and she squeaked in surprise, dropping her bag back to the floor. Molly had dealt with the elder Holmes enough times to know it was his PA, Anthea.

 

The two had become unexpected friends. It wasn’t traditional in the sense that they went out on weekends or talked regularly but they both recognized and understood the hardships of dealing with the Holmes brothers.

 

“ Let’s not keep the Holmes boys waiting,” Anthea urged and Molly smirked at her word choice. Boys. How incredibly fitting. She could picture the identical scowl on the brothers faces at the supposedly humiliating word. 

 

“ I suppose I don’t really have a choice, do I?” she asked with hopefulness.

 

“ I’m afraid not,” Anthea shook her head gently with a sympathetic smile. Her polite reply dashing Molly’s hopes of avoiding both Holmes brother’s for the day.

 

A long suffering sigh escaped her lips and she nodded in acceptance. Better get this over with now. She grabbed her bag again off the floor and followed Anthea to the waiting vehicle. 

 

* * *


	3. Will you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy smokes guys! This chapter ended up being way longer than I expected it to be so enjoy it. 
> 
> I might link some pictures if you guys are having trouble picturing Molly's room. Let me know.
> 
> I'm enjoying all the comments so please never stop! :)
> 
> \- Twixen93

 

 

* * *

 

Sherlock stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, and a passive look on his face as the black sedan pulled in front of 221B Baker Street. Mycroft’s men had efficiently moved all of Molly’s belongings to the flat during the day under his meticulous guidance. Her reaction to his actions would be touchy at best and her anger didn’t need to be helped along by any of her things being damaged in the move. 

 

The door opened and Anthea walked in with Molly following closely on her heels.    She had had a brilliant argument ready to thrust upon Sherlock but everything she had practiced in her head evaporated as she stepped into the living room. It was the familiar 221B Baker Street she knew but there was something very different about it. Her eyes raked over the room and the people in it trying to put her finger on what was so off. 

 

“ Ah Ms. Hooper, I’m glad you could join us. Do take a seat,” Mycroft offered as he motioned to Sherlock’s chair in front of him. 

 

“ I would rather not,” she replied curtly, opting to stand and remain right where she was. Her eyes still surveying the flat. 

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her spite and Sherlock threw him a glare. The clear indicator that he should stay out of this and let him handle it. 

 

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by Molly’s raised hand. Much to the surprise of the other guests in the flat, he obliged and remained quiet. She furrowed her brow and fixed her gaze on the bookshelf to the left of the fireplace. 

 

“ Those are my books,” she pointed at the bookshelf and stepped towards them as if to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.

 

  
_These are definitely mine._ She ran a finger along the spine of one of her worn out books. Sherlock’s eyes followed her every action, silently gauging how she would react. Anger was the most likely emotion and what he was expecting. However, nothing could have prepared him for what she said next.

 

“ You organized them in order of their importance,” her voice was soft, thankful almost. No hint of anger at all. 

 

“ I… uh… yes,” Sherlock stuttered, his usual articulate nature lost at her unexpected calmness. 

 

Mycroft tilted his head and threw a knowing look at Sherlock for his moment of lost eloquence. A smile of reserved amusement painting his stoic features. 

 

“ I can handle this Mycroft. Your presence is no longer required. Now leave,” Sherlock clenched his jaw and glowered at Mycroft. 

 

“ Handle what?” Molly asked bravely as the two brothers locked eyes. 

 

They ignored her question and Molly brushed it off, instead electing to watch the exchange of clear distaste between the two. There was only the barest hint of displeasure from Mycroft as he opted to maintain his unwavering facade of control. Sherlock, on the other hand, openly displayed his annoyance with the minute muscles in his jaw moving faintly beneath his skin. He walked stiffly to the door and wrenched it open, making his intentions clear. 

 

“ Very well," Mycroft acquiesced and stood from his seat but instead of walking to the door, turned to Molly who stood silently by the bookcase. 

 

“ Miss Hooper, do go easy on my brother. He is merely concerned for-“

 

“ OUT!” Molly jumped as Sherlock’s shout stifled his brother’s comments. Even Anthea tore herself away from her blackberry. 

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes knowing full well Molly was the only one who could see him. Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently as Mycroft turned without another word to her and walked towards the door. 

 

“ Brother mine,” Mycroft nodded before leaving the flat with Anthea close on his heels, her eyes again glued to her blackberry. She turned to Molly before exiting and offered a brief supportive goodbye. 

 

Sherlock scowled and slammed the kitchen entrance shut. It reverberated around the room causing Molly to startle for the second time that evening. He strode into the living room and began pacing in front of the couch as if she wasn’t even there. She shuffled from foot to foot awkwardly, unsure if she should stop him or let him work whatever was running through his head himself. His motions seemed to ignite every possible question she had running through her mind but she skillfully quieted them to ask the most important one. 

 

“ Sherlock, why are my books here, on that shelf, in your flat?” she asked after the silence had drawn on long enough. 

 

He stopped pacing, his electric azure eyes locking on her being and she suddenly felt very small. The immediate drop her stomach did made her nauseous, her lungs constrict, and her mind wondering if she had said something wrong. His gaze softened once he noticed her terrified look and she breathed normally realizing his projected frustration was part of the after effects of dealing with Mycroft. 

 

“ Follow me Molly. There is something I want to show you,” he motioned to the living room door that had remained open and again, ignored her direct question. 

 

“ I can assure you all your questions will be answered,” he voiced after noticing she had not moved from her spot by the bookcase.

 

It did not reassure her but the sooner she indulged him in whatever was happening here, the sooner she could get back to more important matters. 

 

She had assumed they were leaving the flat but he surprised her when he started up the stairs to the third floor. Her confused look went unnoticed and she followed him up the stairs to where John’s old bedroom was located. It had remained thankfully empty after he had moved out as Mrs. Hudson didn’t have the heart to let it out. 

 

The door at the top of the stairs was closed and a faint light reflected off the hardwood floor from underneath it. Sherlock stepped to the side once reaching the landing, allowing Molly to stand before the door, and stood quietly with his hands clasped behind his back. To confuse her further, there was a nervousness he exuded that was usually never present when interacting with her.

 

“ Why are we up here Sherlock?” she asked, eyeing the closed the door.

 

“ Open it,” he urged and motioned to the door. 

 

Her hand hovered above the brass doorknob momentarily before she slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open. She froze as she took in what she was seeing. Her breath catching in her throat. 

 

The room was not empty as she had previously believed. It was completely furnished, beautifully so, with all her belongings and some new.  

 

Her double bed was centred directly in front of her. Crisp white sheets and matching pillow cases peeked out from underneath the folded down covers of her deep aubergine duvet, fully covering the expanse of her bed. The headboard, a beautiful dark rosewood outlining a patterned cream cushioned centre, the exact width of her bed, was set perfectly symmetrical against the wall. 

 

Two dark rosewood bedside tables sat on either side of the bed, matching the wood of the headboard. New lamps adorned each new table, elaborate black iron, twisted like a double helix ending in a crimson circular lampshade. She silently rejoiced that the old and worn lamps she used previously were no where in sight. 

 

A cream ottoman, matching the cushioned portion of her headboard, lay at the foot of her bed. She had passed up on buying the beautiful piece of furniture, even though she desperately wanted it, when she found out the dimensions of her previous room would be too cramped to own it. 

 

There were two windows, evenly spaced, and overlooking the alley below. Crimson curtains, matching the lampshades, were tied to the sides with a black rope cord leaving the evening light to shine through the windows. 

 

Her wide, six drawer dresser rested between the two windows completing the bedroom set. The left half of her dresser was spread with framed photos of family and friends, laughing, goofing around, and happy. Her ornate silver jewelry box remained on the other. Its clawed feet set firmly on the dresser, the lid closed tight, and the detailed key resting in the lock. 

 

She noticed the closet to her left and tentatively stepped towards it, her curiosity beating out her restraint. She had a fleeting thought about what she would see when she opened the double doors to the closet and it didn’t disappoint. All her clothes were neatly hung and colour coordinated, the shoes she only wore for special occasions were lined perfectly in the bottom, and a box of her movies and old medical journals filled the top shelf. 

 

Everything was in place, the decorated room was relevant to her taste, and her belongings had been well taken care of. The things that couldn’t fit into the already furnished flat were locked safely away in storage until a time when she required them again. 

 

Sherlock watched her silently as she explored the room, her room. Her emotions were fascinating to watch. Wonder, confusion, and endless curiosity. She breathed slowly as she explored. It was her way of containing the infinite words she wanted to say to her mind. 

 

“At least I know where my things have gone,” she turned to Sherlock who had remained standing in the doorway

 

“ I want you to stay at Baker Street,” he blurted as Molly ran her fingers through her hair. 

 

“ You… you want… what?” she furrowed her brows and stared blankly at him.  

 

“ I fear you are now present on many lists of those who seek revenge on me Molly. You would be much safer here and after we eliminate the current Moriarty threat, you are more than welcome to return to your own flat,” he continued, actively ignoring Molly’s grimace at the mention of Moriarty. 

 

“ Will you stay?” he asked with a much softer and almost pleading tone. 

 

She thought about his proposition. This was not a good idea. He could assign someone to look after her. It would be easier for him, less responsibility, and more importantly much less painful for her. Sherlock and everyone else in her life knew about her feelings for him. She had come to terms with the fact that he didn’t share them and she was totally fine living with that constant pain. This was a whole new level of masochism and somehow it still didn’t deter her final decision.  

 

“ I will Sherlock but you really should have asked me first. With good enough reasoning you wouldn’t of had to do this behind my back,” Molly sat down slowly on the ottoman, facing the door, and Sherlock who had taken one step into the room. 

 

“ I assure you this arrangement is only temporary,” Sherlock stated plainly and if Molly had heard a hint of bitterness, she didn’t comment. 

 

She nodded because words seemed to temporarily elude her. She was going to be living at Baker Street for an undetermined amount of time. 

 

“ I meant what I said Molly. That night in the morgue. You do count and your loss,” he paused before stepping out the door, “ would break my heart.” 

 

And with those words he left Molly alone in her new room, gaping at his retreating form, speechless, and certainly confused. 

 

 

* * *

 Click below to see the furniture pieces. 

[Molly's Room](http://twixen93.tumblr.com/post/93642494832/mollys-room-from-save-her-from-his-nightmares)

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS.
> 
> All the credit goes to Sir ACD, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and everyone else involved in these characters wonderful creation.


End file.
